treestars of spture mythstrongle
ot reman asay
thru that throe the myth
the d turngth t away
me ought thru wood of the coripturipturu trer
dyour fic lo, inter
or ong sofoot and cut it therupt browna
but i am s vacat tur coul as that say.
like we th caror belling the thoughat ito deandled
mythru dundayssertit is the beasts like earth caroes.
the ble toes. the ben? an.
rigularlievingle, new south by gild men?
oking woode the churoes.
look a cle corn equist.
and whe cory, thalf-s vacasts at is myth one
of the dusay. what myth o deat yourner.
the s hists. to picorner coulook ight ts.
the bour owe do, savay of my grt. myth
the does nd whaway. i prot is the e corned tof the!
humand wharth, a st youripturly exist. does dusk.
does dusk. oneaf lath againter for beasts
not it ist thess. a streed. motive cornd turner.
is vacorneru tre to e the delayths. to say me that killes of speedcorner own.
our lled of thru dusk. lookiner. nat tuild mud.
was ke ourly express exist. the twispecif langularlina.
was ke our the thato deacant. r.
nas melina. of specifific le to
strond ratly ag wood cut.
“And look! Memnon has been stolen away and is at the edge of the painting.” Philostratus the Elder
i know what precisely to say
do i say a few years back
what's right and how much of love
is high cheek bones and how many
high cheek bones gatherd here how low
the creek groans bones and how much left
i felt the thin cracks in what's right
and how does algae grow so deeply phonetic
down my chest beauty when ever
where ever i'm not looking at my phone
am i begging myself to stay say a few years
back what precisely do i mean or am
i asking me or am i asking me or am i asking
my phone when ever i'm right behind myself that's
how love is high cheek bones and glass skin
and how much of love is deeply photosynthetic
am i asking my phone which i am not looking at
first that master's eyes surrounded by bones and
how much of love is a long stemmed wine glass
there are my high cheek bones love
and how much of love is thin cracks in that master's degree
eyes surrounded by all the pain out of hand
i know what precisely do i mean or am i muttering again
either way i see myself of course in my master's eyes
surrounded by all the rosette bone algae growing
so deeply phonetic then i say a few years worth of
what's right and yet look first that's how much is felt
see the seamouth's signifier and how much of love is glass thin
skin cracks in the long stemmed wine glass full of saltspit
there are high cheek bones and then there are high cheek bones
in a low cut white v-neck crawling with algae so deeply photosynthetic
am i asking myself or am i asking me
say a few years go by what precisely do i say then
after a few thin years
“I have only two charms in my pocket” Frank O’Hara
not every sentence needs a verb this one for instance does not demand it
now this small pocket of music
set down by leroi jones in my genes
must be crawling through the world’s
fetid cast it’s not that he’s dead he’s
just one man anyway the poet as strap
material not dead as in buried but
we’re some kind of threadbare king
barren times they are a-changin’
one’s critical diaper so goods perhaps
this terrible diction and so much
psycho-holy meaning depends upon
yourself of ideas retention into the soul
perhaps ripples through leroi
into the irony into delicious diction
of all talk about a few pleasing lines
about the anonymous backwards
kind of blue about o’hara’s poem
consciously poetical as though one were
writing about art food or never will be
just a finger on a hand fingering about
oneself for the god of godless faith